


Reunion

by koanju (verstehen)



Category: Xenogears
Genre: Adventure, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-01
Updated: 2009-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:33:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verstehen/pseuds/koanju
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set 6 years after the game, Billy returns to Aveh to find a very different Bart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reunion

**Author's Note:**

> This was written sometime in the early-to-mid 1990s. And holy hell does it show. But, unlike pretty much everything ELSE I wrote that decade, I stuck this up because Xenogears is such a small fandom and Billy/Bart fans are an even smaller group.

It was that time of year again. Billy had already made arrangements to have Primera stay with the orphanage. He didn't want to drag bad memories up for her. The Lord only knew where his father was. He'd disappeared shortly after the end of it all; it was the one time Billy couldn't blame him. They'd killed /God./ Billy wanted to run too. It wasn't as easy as that. There was Prim to consider, for one thing. And trying to pick up the pieces of the countries that Gebler - and Solaris - had control of. Then there was Ethos. The world hadn't had an easy time of it. Responsibility had to be faced.

Billy sometimes wondered if it was all worth it. The only times of the year that he felt like the entire adventure had accomplished anything was, well, the reunions. And Billy always felt a little shy about going to those. It wasn't that he didn't feel wanted, no that wasn't the problem at all. It was more that he felt that he didn't belong. Fei and Elly had married, and were now doing their best to rebuilt Lahan. Not that their actions had surprised anyone involved. Billy assumed that Citan had known of that eventuality since he had seen the portrait of Sophia that Lacan had done in Nisan. Citan himself had opted to go back to Solaris and try and help the failing population adjust to the changes. In a surprising move, Sigurd had left with him. Bart had ended up in Bledavik, a king. There were rumors of his impending engagement to Marguerite, the Great Mother of Nisan. Rico was now the heir to Kislev, Sigmund finally recognizing his own blood, despite the mutation. Maria and Emeralda were in Aveh, living with Balthasar, helping him to excavate archeological sites, and dismantle any gears they found.

And then there was Billy. He hadn't done anything really noteworthy since the cycle was broken. He'd just retreated back to their own cabin and watched over Prim. And she was getting old enough to watch over herself. Responsibilities had to be faced, and except for Prim, Billy felt like he was shirking his. Bart was constantly sending messengers to the cabin, asking him to visit Bledavik, or Nisan, or even Aveh. The messenger usually had a bit of gold with him as well. Billy always turned the invitations down as politely as possible, but kept the gold. He knew Bart understood.

Rearranging one's worldview was something to be done alone.

The one thing that brought him out of his self-imposed solitude was the yearly reunions. And even those in the last two years, Prim had to almost physically throw Billy out of the door to make him go to, mostly due to another little problem that had cropped up. Not only did Billy have to deal with his inferiority complex, the guilt over not knowing /what/ to do in the aftermath, but Billy found himself attracted to Bart. Considering that the reunions were always held in Bledavik, to accomodate Bart who couldn't leave the seat of his power, well, the attraction always made Billy reluctant to go.

"You're brooding again," Prim's voice floated through the window of the cabin. She was outside in her garden, weeding. Billy rolled his eyes, and glared at the window. "Don't glare at me." Prim's voice was firm. She also had her back turned. Billy had yet to figure out how she did it. "This is not good for you."

Billy was sitting in the rocking chair. His hands were twitching slightly. When Prim got like this, there was only way one to stop her. By working hard enough that he could tune her out. The cabin itself was spotless, laundry was done. And it was the middle of the afternoon, no reason to cook.

Billy eyed the cabinet. It was time to get it out anyway. He reached under his plain, white shirt, and pulled out a necklace. On the chain, which had been his mother's, was a key. The key to the cabinet.

He stood, and walked over to the cabinet, opening it. He pulled out his gun, walked over to the table, amd methodically began to tear it apart for cleaning. "Don't think you can ignore me like that, Billy Lee Black." Prim appeared in the doorway, obviously pissed off. Billy looked up at her, sighing. She had grown. No longer so young, Prim was now 14. Billy was no longer so young himself at 24. "It's been 6 years Billy."

Billy nodded. "I know."

"You /can/ move on, you know. They'll help you."

Billy nodded again. "I know."

Prim grunted in frustration, throwing her hands up in the air, and stalking over to him. She pointed at him, stabbing him in the chest with each word. "Then WHY DON'T YOU?"

Billy gave his standard answer. "It's not that easy."

Prim stepped back, scowling. "You don't know why." This was a new facet to an old argument. She had hit the target dead center. Billy wasn't sure /why/ he was so reluctant to leave the sanctuary of the cabin. It was ... home. It was innocent, he supposed. But it was also a place he felt /right/ in. No where else did he feel at peace. There were always questions, doubts, people staring. He hated the confusion.

But Prim was right. Billy didn't know where that hesitation and confusion came from. She looked him up and down, eyes focusing on the gun. "You haven't used that in two years," she commented, walking over to the window to look out at her garden.

"Yes. What's that got to do with anything?"

"Billy, if you don't get out of this house, and /do/ something, then I'm going to take that gun and use it on you." Billy's mouth dropped open at Prim's calmly delivered statement.

He looked down at gun, considering, before unexpectedly, Billy felt giggles bubbling up. It was /funny,/ Prim threatening him like that. And she could do it because she was right. He smiled over at her, still chuckling. "All right. I'll get out of your hair early this year. No moping."

Prim smiled over at him, instantly happy. "I'm glad. You would feel better getting out and doing something. Being useful. Half the reason you mope is because you isolate yourself." She turned back towards the door, probably to go back to weeding her garden. "Besides, the sooner you get out of here, the sooner I can start inviting Daniel over." With that parting shot, Prim walked out.  
\----

The trip to Bledavik had been rather long and exausting. Billy's combat skills had grown rusty from dissue, and there had been the several stops he had to make to help caravans. While there was no longer outright war between Aveh and Kislev, Bart and Rico had seen to that, monsters and large animals still preyed on travelers. Billy's gun had seen more use in the past weeks travel that it had in the last two years.

Then there were the human predators. Billy grimaced slightly, kicking up dust as he walked down the dirt road of the capital. He'd have to remember to tell Bart - the last thing Aveh needed now as they tried to rebuild was slavers.

Bledavik had changed a lot since the end of the wars. Bart had razed most of the buildings, and built them all newer, better, and stronger. A few years ago, while the construction was still going on, Bart had confessed he only did it because people needed jobs and public works were the best way to give them to the people. Billy had smiled at the thought, and remembered the conversation they had had around when they had first met about Billy's own attempts to provide food and shelter for Prim. There was a lot going on under that blond hair than Bart wanted anyone to know.

Billy approached the imperial palace. It was the one thing that had survived the reconstruction in Bledavik. Billy assumed Bart couldn't bear to tear it down because of the ancestral ties. It also might have been the sheer magnitude of the underground network in the palace, which Bart knew inside and out. Those extra escape routes were always nice.

"Halt!" Billy started, looking over at the red-clad guard that was jogging towards him from the gate. "What are you doing here?"

Billy half-smiled. It was the first time a guard had ever stopped him. Bart held open court - the people at Aveh were encouraged to come and talk to Bart. They brought grievances, suggestions, complaints, thanks, gifts, hatred, anything and everything. Billy had sat through one session a few years back when it had coincided with the yearly reunion, and was honestly surprised by the devotion that the people of Aveh seemed to have for Bart. Not just Bart as the heir to the Fatima dynasty, but Bart, as a person. But, he reflected, it was justified, considering the attention Bart himself devoted on his people. Living so many years as a desert pirate had made Bart highly fiesty, but it also opened him up to the common man in a way that Shakhan never could have been - and the people recognized that. "I came to see the king."

"No visitors allowed outside of court designated hours," the guard answered, eyeing Billy suspiciously. Obviously the man thought that Billy, with his plain brown slacks, dirty white shirt, and his guns, was there to cause problems.

"When did this start?"

The man stiffened further, scowling. "You want to see the king, you come back tomorrow."

Billy snorted, and looked over at the sun. He wanted to get inside to the shade - he was beginning to burn. "Care to give me a time?"

"1pm." The guard scowled again, turned, and walked back to his post, making sure to kick more dirt onto Billy's boots.

"And I left home for this?" He muttered, beginning to look for an inn. Or a way into the palace. Or at least some shade.

"Billy?" A sweet, high voice called out from the crowded market place. Billy glanced around, but didn't see who had called his name until a great pink blob wrapped it's arms around Billy's waist.

"Margie?" The the top of the blob nodded, and pulled back.

"It's /so/ good to see you! And you're early! Why didn't you write! Or let us know! Bart'd rolled out the red carpet for you!" Margie pulled back and gushed. It looked like she was ready to cry. Prim must have been writing to her. Trust Prim to marshall all the forces she could find.

Billy untangled Margie's arms from his waist. Unlike Prim, she still looked as young and as short as she had at ten. He smiled down at her. "I just didn't find the time to write. I'm sorry."

Margie beamed. "It's all right! C'mon inside, Bart will be dying to see you all again. It's all he's been talking about for days." Margie grabbed his hand, and began dragging Billy towards the palace gates.

The guard that had stopped him earlier moved to intercept. "Miss Marguerite!" He looked nervously at Billy, before continuing in a quiet tone. "You can't bring strangers into the palace at a time like this."

Margie looked like she was about to laugh. "Stranger? Billy?"

The guard looked confused. "You know him?"

"Of course! He's Billy Lee Black." The guard gasped as Margie pronounced the name, and stared at Billy, looking him over again.

"I'm terribly sorry, sir, I just, uh, didn't, uh--" Billy waved the guard away. He didn't really want to listen to the stammered apologies. They always emabarrassed him, and Billy never knew what to do with the gratitude.

"Let's go~!" Margie continued to pull Billy inside the palace. "Bart will be so surprised!" Nothing had changed, not even the route to the throne room since Billy's last visit 11 months ago. He smiled, a little bemused by Margie's enthusiam as she dragged him past the old things, pointing them out as if Billy were seeing them for the first time. She did this every year with him. He was the only person who recieved such special treatment. Billy figured it was one more thing he'd have to get Prim back for.

"BART!" Margie took a left turn, right before the throne room, and burst into a room. Bart was standing next to a table with a map of the palace laid out, talking to Maison. "Look who's here!" Both Maison and Bart looked up, and both had identical expressions of surprise, jaws open, eyebrows raised. Bart even dropped the quill he was making notes with. "Billy!" He gasped, striding accross the room, and enveloping Billy in a breath-robbing hug. When he pulled back, Billy took a close look at his friend.

As much as the palace hadn't changed, Bart had. His hair was still the color of sparkling sand in the sunlight, and it gleamed in the light brought through the windows. He had gone back to wearing the same jumpsuit that Bart had favored as a desert pirate, and Billy worried about the change. It was Bart's face that startled Billy the most. He looked old and tired. There were dark black bags under his eyes, evidencing little sleep. The laugh lines around his eyes and mouth and turned into crows feet, and worry lines. Something was rotten in the kingdom of Aveh. "What are you doing here?" Bart continued, still smiling. Some of the humor was lost, those sad lines depriving Bart of much of the laughter his face used to hold.

"Prim convinced me to come over early," Billy said, doing his best to summon a genuine smile. He shot a look over at Margie, trying to decipher what had prompted those changes. She shook her head slightly, and crept towards the door, obviously wanting to give the two friends some time alone together. Bart nodded, and started slightly, realizing that he was still close to Billy. He turned back to the table, and nodded to Maison.

"I'll leave you alone, your Highness," Maison said softly, taking the map, and rolling it up before leaving the room. Billy, feeling the weight of the last journey finally hit him, collaspsed in a chair. Bart pulled a chair across the floor, the noise grinding on Billy's nerves. It was /off,/ everything about Aveh was off.

"I wasn't sure if we were going to see you this year, Billy." Bart ventured after a few moments of silence.

Billy closed his eyes, letting the warm rays of the sun lull him. "Prim gave me very good reasons to get out of the cabin early this year," he said lightly. "There didn't seem to be any use in going anywhere else, with the reunion coming up. I hope you don't mind me imposing?" Billy opened his eyes and studied Bart's face.

Some of the tension and sadness seemed to lift at the prospect. "Of course! You - all of you - are /always/ welcome here. In fact, I insist. If you don't come and visit more often, I'll send some of the guards to arrest you for me." Bart answered laughing.

Billy smiled back, chuckling. He hadn't realized how much he really missed that laugh, the warm, dry sound as it washed over him. Bart's laugh reminded him of the desert sand, smooth and textured at the same time, hot to the touch, but always a pleasure to hold. He didn't like this new, closed down Bart. Billy made a mental note to do as much as possible to make that laugh come back. "That sounds rather entertaining," Billy said, pretending to take Bart's threat seriously. "I could rather use the exercise." Bart laughed again, the sound echoing through the room. "But I know you'd never do that. It looks like you need them here?"

Bart sobered almost immediately, and Billy cursed himself inwardly. He had let his curiosity get the better of him. "There have been some incidents, but nothing you have to worry about." Bart answered, bringing back his smile. It was wooden.

Billy snorted, leaning forward to place his hand on Bart's knee. The other man flinched lightly, before controlling the action. "This coming from the same man who used to shoot everything with Bart Missles, and did everything he could to drag others into his conflict with Shakhan?" Billy squeezed Bart's knee lightly, the action feeling somewhat uncomfortable. He wasn't a very physically demonstrative person, but Bart was. "Tell me." Billy found it odd that he of all people would be comforting Bart. 6 years ago it had been the other way around.

Now it was Bart who closed his eyes, sighing. He leaned back in the chair, stretching his arms out. The stretch made his shirt ride up his stomach, and Billy was given a glimpse of brown stomach. Billy felt his groin tighten slightly at the illicit view, and he suddenly found himself thinking about Bishop Stone's sermon on lust. "Lust is the product of an idle and unsatisfied mind. If a mind has found God, there is no need for a base emotion such as lust." The words rang in his mind, and he mentally backed up. He didn't need to make things worse with Bart by sending confused signals. Billy concentrated on the man in front of him, and shoved his libido to the back of his mind. Gingerly Billy removed his hand from Bart's knee. "There was an assassination attempt a week ago."

"A WHAT?" Billy honestly couldn't believe the words he was hearing. The people /loved/ Bart. Billy's vehemence brought a half-smile to Bart's face, it was bitter, and hurt Billy to see it. Bart re-opened his eyes, and the emotions in the smile were reflected there as well. Bart's eyes hurt more to look at than his smile.

"An assassination attempt. We don't know how staged it yet, but they almost succeeded." As he made the statement, Bart reached up to massage his right shoulder, scowling faintly. Billy stood, walked around to the back of Bart's chair. He lightly removed Bart's hand, and began his own ministrations. He could feel the bandage through the light fabric of Bart's shirt, and used his fingertips to diagnos the wound. His years in Ethos had at least taught him caught a few healing techniques, with or without ether. "You have about a million years to stop doing that," Bart said, closing his eyes, and sighing again, this time in contentment. "Why didn't you tell me that you knew how to do that?"

"No one ever asked," Billy answered truthfully. He usually avoided massage techniques because he always felt uncomfortable touching other people. Bishop Stone hadn't been fond of the physical realm, paticularly of the kind of lust that Billy was feeling, and too much of the man's teachings had been sunk into Billy's psyche for him to disregard them now. And with the ether techniques he had also learned, there was no reason for Billy to physically touch to heal someone. But with the slow disillusion of ether and magic from the world, there was a chance any healing spells he attempted would end up hurting Bart more than healing him.

"And of course, you didn't volunteer." There was a serious note in Bart's tone, and Billy looked down at his patient. There was something else wrong here, something beyond just an assassination attempt. The old Bart would have loved the challenge, considering it /fun./ Maybe there was something to that - the "old" Bart. The old Bart had those others around him to make something so dire as an assassination attempt fun. The old Bart had friends, companions, to laugh with. The old Bart thrived on that contact.

The new Bart was alone, except for Margie and Maison. Perhaps that was why he was always pestering people to visit him, and he had been since Sigurd left.

Sigurd. There was a name meant to evoke emotion.

"How's Sigurd?" Billy asked quietly. He felt Bart's breath still under his fingers. Seemed as if Billy had hit the jackpot.

"I don't know. I haven't heard from him since he went up to Solaris, and joined Citan." Billy winced inwardly at the very cold, very flat tone of Bart's voice. Billy stopped his massage, not sure what to say. He had learned how to heal physical pain from the Ethos, emotional scarring was another matter entirely.

"I'm sorry," he said simply. There wasn't anything else he could say. Bart shrugged, and his breathing began to return to normal. "You two were closer than simple siblings."

Bart stilled again, and Billy restarted his massage, wondering exactly what nerve he had hit this time. "I'm surprised you know about that. I thought we hid it better." Billy nodded slowly, still not understanding what Bart was talking about. "He was my first, you know. And so far, my last."

Billy's hands froze, clenching Bart's shoulder as realization hit. Bart was talking about being Sigurd's lover. That explained the depth of Bart's loneliness here, both his friends /and/ his lover were gone. Billy's mind shied away from the implication of the fact that Bart and Sigurd were brothers. He took a deep breath, sensing that his stillness had disturbed Bart. "Did he tell you why he wanted to leave?" Billy was surprised by the lack of tremble in his voice. He lifted his left hand, and began to massage both of Bart's shoulders now, concentrating on relaxation and comfort, moreso than healing.

"Sig said that there was someone who needed him more than I did." Bart licked his lips lightly. Billy could feel the tenseness of the muscles in his back, and did his best to take that worry and pain into himself.

"Citan?"

"Apparently. Or maybe it was Solaris in general." Bart sighed. "In a way I can understand. If I were in the same situation, and my actions could help the people of Aveh..." Bart trailed off.

Billy laughed. "You did make that choice. When you took the crown." He let his hands rest on Bart's shoulders. "But understanding the actions don't make them any less painful, does it?"

Bart reached up and squeezed Billy's right hand, the one resting directly above the wound. He took it as his cue to sit down, this was a conversation Billy wasn't sure he wanted to have either sober or standing. "You speak from experience." The statement was also a question. Obviously Bart didn't feel comfortable baring his soul unless there was some reciprocation. Billy flopped down in the chair, abandoning his usual grace, and looked over at Bart, hesitating.

Bart's face was sober, eyes slightly downcast. He was hunched in on himself, as if he was ready to block a blow. Bart was expecting Billy to reject him, and his confidences. Instantly Billy felt lower than a Wel. He had contributed to this, everytime he had rejected Bart's invitations. His reluctance and shyness even at the reunions had helped to create this sad man out of the happiest of them. The time for hesitation was past. He needed Bart's company and advice, as much as Bart seemed to need his. "You probably remember Bishop Stone."

Bart grimaced, eyes darkening. "How could I forget the bastard?"

Billy snorted ruefully. "He did make something of an impression on those he met, didn't he?" Bart smiled, looking a little bit more like his older self. "Well, one of Bishop Stone's favorite sermons when I was with Ethos had to do with the responsibilities of power. 'If you have the power, grasp it. Use it. There are others weaker than yourself, and it is your God-given responsibility to make things better for them. The strong protect the weak, so that the weak are not prey.'" Billy found his voice taking on Stone's lecturing tones, and blushed slightly.

Bart nodded. "I can understand that. It's why I'm here. Because I have the power to protect all the people in Aveh. But I can't quite understand how it relates to you? Someone as," Bart's tone became teasing for the first time that night, "holy as you probably never needed that lecture. You helped them because it's the right thing to do."

Billy smiled wistfully. It was a great compliment that Bart was paying him, and certainly in a less rough manner than he would have when Bart met Stone. Maison's years of nagging about diplomacy and etiquette finally rubbed off on the other man. Billy liked the more eloquent version of the man sitting in front of him. "Well, that sermon always stuck with me because of my father."

Bart cocked his head slightly, brows furrowing. "Jesiah?"

Billy nodded. "I guess I connect to that speech because -"

"You always felt that your father had abandoned those weaker than himself." Bart interrupted, coming to the conclusion before Billy could explain it. "You thought Jesiah abandoned his responsibilities to you and Primela."

Billy looked down, not losing his half-smile. He linked his hands together in his lap. "In one."

"No wonder you always seemed so obsessed with making sure your sister was all right."

Billy laughed. "Pot and kettle, my friend, pot and kettle."

Bart sobered. "Are we?" He leaned forward, getting closer to Billy, who felt mesmerized by the blue eye looking directly into his.

"Are we what, Bart?" Billy asked, unable to break his gaze from that eye, those moist lips, that face.

"Friends?" Something was lurking in Bart's eye. Something unsaid.

Billy took a moment to appraise Bart's face. His skin looked soft, and Billy gave into his desire to touch it. Reaching out, he lightly placed his fingertips on Bart's brow, savoring the rough texture burned into the skin from years under Aveh's sun. Bart's eyes widened slightly with some inner revelation, and Billy found himself quickly moving to disguise the touch by pushing Bart's bangs out of his eye. He was afraid by the level of intimacy the pair had achieved in such a short time. Bart knew more about Billy than anyone did, even Prim, right down to his almost prostituting himself. That was more than Billy wondered if anyone had a right to know about him. But Bart, because of shared experiences, deserved an honest answer to his question. "I don't know what we are, Bart."

Bart sighed, and a weight seemed to settle back on his shoulders as he leaned back in the chair. The intimacy was gone. "The sun's gone down. I'll have Maison take you to a guest room so that you can get some rest." Billy realized that he has messed up somehow, but didn't think he had the energy to try and fix things.

"I'll see you in the morning then, Bart. I'll take another look at that shoulder of yours as well." Billy retreated from the room, and headed towards the throne room. He figured that was the most likely place to find Maison.

Billy entered the throne room, somewhat comforted by the bright lighting. Masion was wiping down the windows with a dirty rag. "Aren't there servants for that?" Billy asked curiously.

"The young master found other posistions for all but a few of us," Maison said, rubbing his hands together as he turned towards Billy.

"Was this before or after the assassination attempt?"

Maison stared at Billy, eyes wide. "The young master told you about that?" Billy nodded, and Maison dropped the rag in a rush to embrace Billy. "Oh, thank you, my good man! This is the first time the young master has opened up to anyone since Master Sigurd left!"

Billy stiffened slightly, unsure how to handle both the embrace and the words. Maison let Billy go, rubbing his eyes. "What happened to him?" Billy asked.

"First all of you, then Sigurd, and now the people of Aveh," a female voice inserted itself into the conversation. Billy turned to see Margie's slight frame in the doorway to the throne room. She approached Billy and Maison, running a hand through her red bangs to push them out of her eyes. "He's been alone for so long."

Billy looked down. "He's so different now," he said, feeling that guilt well up, threatening to overwhelm him. Margie finished her walk through the room, and stopped dead in front of Billy, staring up into him.

"But you're here now," Margie said softly, quietly, as if she dreaded the answer. It was a question.

Billy looked into her eyes, and saw Bart's shadowed one overlaying them. He sighed. If Billy wanted to honestly help Bart, he'd have to face his own insecurities, and come clean about the attraction to Bart. Which would all be easier said than done. "Yes, I'm here." Billy answered Margie after a few moments consideration, placing his hand on her head in a gesture reminiscent of a benediction.

She smiled. "Thank you."

Billy turned back to Maison. "Tell me about the assassination attempt. I want to help."

Maison rubbed tears out of his eyes again. "Forgive an old man his weakness," he stuttered. Billy nodded, giving him time to compose himself. Maison took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. "We recieved a death threat for the young master about two weeks ago," Maison started.

"And Bart being the stupid idiot he is, he ignored it." Margie cut in bitingly.

"Now, now, Miss Marguerite. It's not the young master's fault. He thought it was just another of Shakhan's old supporters!" Maison retorted.

"Wait, ANOTHER? There have been other attempts? And no one TOLD us?" Billy broke in, suddenly furious with Bart.

Maison nodded. "I urged him to share it with you all, but he refused. I still remember what he said that day," Maison's eyes misted over again. "He told me 'I built my kingdom on their strength. But I'm the one who has to hold it.' It sounded so like his father," Maison continued.

"I remember Uncle Edbart. He was an idiot too," Margie snorted. Billy hid a smile. She had turned out more like Bart than anyone suspected. He briefly wondered what the nuns of the Nisan sect thought of that development.

"Miss Marguerite!" Maison's tone of voice was shocked, and Billy /couldn't/ keep from chuckling. Both Maison and Margie glared at him, and he quickly wiped his face blank. "I will not allow you to insult the royal line, your dead uncle!"

"Maison, Margie, can we save the family history for another day, and get to the point?" Billy interjected, trying to forestall the fight.

"Oh, I am terribly sorry, sir. I did not mean to get distracted," Maison apologized. "We recieved the death threats, and the young master did not pay any heed to them. Then last week, we had a celebration for Miss Marguerite's yearly visit - most of the people here follow the Nisan sect, and revere Miss Marguerite highly. It was at the celebration that the assassin struck, shooting the young master from afar."

"If no one was looking out for the shooter, how did Bart manage to survive?" Billy asked, curious.

"If it weren't for Miss Marguerite ..." Maison trailed off, shaking his head. Billy raised his eyebrows at Margie, trying to coax a better answer out of her.

"I noticed something metallic glinting in the sun. It reminded me of the way your gun used to shine when you pulled it out. So I knocked Bart out of the way, just in time. So it ended up hitting his shoulder, and not his heart."

Billy nodded. "There are still supporters of Shakhan around?"

Margie sighed, and nodded. "He was good for the nobles. They loved him. When Bart took power, the first thing he did was oust all the nobles that Shakhan had put in power. When that happened their fortunes broke."

"Which wasn't nessecerily a bad thing," Maison interjected. "Most of those nobles had thriving business on the black market."

"Slavers?" Billy asked, a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Maison and Marguerite nodded in unison. "I think Bart and I are going to have a /long/ talk in the morning," he said grimly, remembering his own experiences with slavers on the way to Aveh.

Maison started slightly, looking outside at the stars. "Forgive me, sir! I should have had you settled long before now! I'm getting forgetful in my old age, I didn't even offer to take your things."

Billy shook his head. "Don't worry about it, Maison. But I do need to get some rest. If you don't mind, could you show me to where I can stay?"

Maison nodded. "Certainly! Follow me, I shall place you in the room opposite the young master's." Maison turned, and walked out of the throne room, Billy following. With a few twists and turns, they were in the private residence portion of the palace. The hallway was dimly lit, probably a concession to the people sleeping. When there were actually people sleeping. There was no light seeping out from any of the doors in the wing, except for one. Maison gestured to that door. "That's the young master's room," and Maison pointed to the one directly accross from it. "Please make yourself at home here. And if you need anything; items, clothing, please ask. I hope to be of service to you." Billy nodded his thanks and entered the room.

Billy dropped his pack on the floor, and felt his way around the room until he collided with the bed. Sitting down, Billy kicked off his boots, and quickly removed his jeans and shirt. He folded them neatly, placing the clothing on top of the boots. Billy laid out, and promptly fell asleep.  
\----

Morning came quickly, like a thief. Billy woke up to shooting pains in his head as bright rays of sunlight shot through the open windows to the east of the bed. He groaned, blinking, before dragging himself out of bed. Billy stretched out, reaching high, and then touching his toes, before he grabbed clean clothes out of his pack.

Now it was time to confront Bart.

Billy left the room, stifling a yawn. The light under Bart's door was still on, so he knocked. "Bart? Are you in there?" There was no answer, and Billy tried the knob. It turned, so Billy opened the door and peaked his head in. The room was sumptious, decorated in the same red as Brigandier. The bed was large, big enough to hold three people, and covered in what looked like silk sheets.

And it was unoccupied. "Bart?" Billy stepped into the room and looked around. In the corner of the room, there was a crowded desk, littered with papers. Billy saw something gold amidst the papers, and walked closer. It was Bart, his head was down on the desk, asleep. He still had a quill in his hand. Billy laughed lightly, reaching out to gently shake him awake. "Bart, wake up."

Bart groaned, and shifted, before instantly returning to sleep. Billy leaned over, and hefted Bart, planning to carry Bart to bed. "Billy?" Bart mumbled as his arms encircled Bart's waist.

"Yes, it's me." Billy stopped, continuing to hold Bart. "Let's get you to bed, you need to sleep."

Bart shook his head, yawning. He glanced longingly at the bed, before pushing himself out of Billy's arms. "I have work to do."

Billy frowned. "Sit down, and take off your shirt." His tone brooked no argument. Bart raised his eyebrows, and started to look angry, stiffening. The motion made his braid shift behind his back, and Billy suddenly thought of a cat and it's tail. He cocked his head, and gave Bart his best 'Stern Father' look. "Do it. I need to look at your shoulder."

Bart relaxed minutely, before complying. "You've changed. You never used to have this much presence." Bart was right, the last two days had been something of a role reversal for both of them. In way, though, Billy was glad. Prim had been right, moving on was better than stagnating. Deep down, Billy had known that, but it took more than knowledge to find the courage to move on. His entire world had turned upside down, the man he respected the most had in reality been an enemy, and the man he hated most in the world was an ally. Then there was the total change of vocation. Looking at Bart, and considering how to answer his question, Billy finally understood the /why/ of his stagnation. His entire life had been centered about two things: taking care of Prim, and the Church. The Church was now dead as it's god, and Prim had been taking care of herself for years. It left Billy with nothing to do, no purpose. He had been too afraid to go out and look for another reason to live; why bother when it might have been pulled out from under him again? That had to stop. This was no time for moping, or hiding. This was a time for living. This was a time for finding out what /he/ wanted, moving past what Prim wanted, or the Church wanted. This was a time for grasping things Billy desired. Billy had made his choice subconsciously the minute he had left the cabin weeks ago.

Billy had never claimed to be the most intelligent member of the bunch.

Billy shrugged. "Everyone changes," he replied, looking at Bart signifigantly before approaching the wound. He slowly peeled off the bandage, and peered at the bullet wound. The bullet had lodged itself in the muscle of the upper shoulder. "Whoever took that out did a good job," Billy sat down next to Bart on the bed, and moved to examine his back.

He'd forgotten about the scars.

"It's ghastly, I know," Bart said into the silence, voice taunt.

Billy closed his eyes. The pair was once again on a precipice, and this time Billy was determined to take a step in the right direction. He gently touched the deepest of the whip scars, tracing it's line down Bart's back to the top of his bottom. And then back up to Bart's exposed next. Bart inhaled sharply. "No, they aren't. They're beautiful."

Bart's head whipped around, his braid nearly smacking Billy in the face, to stare at Billy. The strands were escaping, gathering around Bart's face and neck. "What?"

"They're beautiful. The scars are a sign of your strength and caring. They're a sign of how far you'll go to protect the people you love. It makes me proud to know you." Billy clamped down on his tongue, not sure if he should continue, not sure of what Bart could read into his words. To cover his hesistation he stood, and began to reapply the bandage to the wound.

"You have really changed." Bart said flatly.

Billy stepped back, finished with his ministrations. "It had to happen. I'm not 16 anymore."

Bart snorted. "I don't think you ever counted as 16. Not even when you were."

Billy snorted, imitating Bart. "Coming from the man who never grew up, that's highly amusing."

Bart laughed, laying down on the bed, slowly as to not irritate his shoulder. Billy swallowed as he looked down at Bart laying on the bed. The picture was so inviting. He ruthlessly squashed Bishop Stone's voice as he thought of all knew about lust. Just a few chance meetings with men while out on money-gathering missions after the death of Deus. It amounted to very little at all. Bart probably had more experience, considering his past with Sigurd. "I wish we could go back to those times."

"Why?"

Bart sighed, the smile slipping of his face. "Because ... Well, it's nothing." He sat up, and slowly began putting his shirt on. "I should get ready, the audiences will begin soon."

Billy reached out and grabbed Bart's wrist, stopping his movement. Bart froze, and turned his head to stare at Billy. "Bart, you can't keep going like this." Billy noted wryly that he was parrotting the same words that Prim had said to him that had touched off the entire journey in the first place. He understood her a bit more now that he was forced to agknowledge his own feelings and concern for someone else. Even when he practically ran Prim's life, raising her, Billy had never had to confront her about her attitude. She didn't become self-destructive like he did.

Bart laughed again, this time bitterly. He wrenched his wrist out of Billy's grasp, shifting his body so that he was facing Billy. "What do you know about it? You who act all high and mighty, trying to tell /ME/ what to do. Billy, you're too chickenshit to even come out of the cabin and face the world. Don't /ever/ try and tell me what to do."

Before Billy realized it, his fist had swung around in a roundhouse, flattening Bart. He instantly regretted the action, and squatted to help Bart up. "I'm sorry," he muttered into Bart's glaring eyes. Billy reached out to wipe the drop of blood coming out of Bart's mouth off his chin. It was warm, and Billy didn't let go of Bart's chin. "I'm sorry," he whispered again, leaning in to kiss Bart lightly. Bart's lips were still under his own, but warm and moist. Just as Billy had imagined them over and over. Regardless of the sensation on Billy's end, the lack of response from Bart was disconcerting. Billy pulled back, caustiously, not sure if he really wanted to see Bart's face.

"Billy?" Bart's voice was soft, with a slight tone of menace.

Billy's shoulders dropped as he looked down at that expressionless face. "I'm sorry." It wasn't much, but it was something, he supposed. Billy turned and began to walk to the door. This time it was Bart's hand that grabbed his wrist, stopping him.

"We're not done here." Bart stood, not letting go of his wrist. Face to face, the men were nearly the same height, and Billy found himself staring at the same pink lips he had just kissed. "I want an explanation."

"Now who's telling who what to do?" Billy replied snidely. It was true, Bart did deserve an explanation. That didn't mean that Billy was going to make it easy for him; this confrontation had seemingly brought a bit of the old Bart back and Billy was damn sure going to try and keep it up. Bart's hands clenched, and Billy tightened his muscles, preparing for a punch, but he smiled as he did it, as wide as he could, in the most insulting way he could, an animal baring it's teeth. "Good to have you back, Your Highness." The sentiment was true, the tone of voice misleading. Everything in Billy's words and stance indicated someone spoiling for a fight, when in reality all Billy wanted to do was pick Bart up, throw him on the bed, and make a few wet dreams come true.

"What the fuck are you trying to do?" Bart still looked like he wanted to hit Billy, but his several years as a ruler had obviously taught him some restraint.

Billy dropped the pose. "I'm trying to help you," he said earnestly.

Bart's face reddened, he was truly angry now. "I don't need your pity, Billy."

He sighed. "I'm not doing this out of pity. I'm doing it becau --"

"Young Master, please wake up!" Maison's voice wafted through the door. "The audiences are going to start in a half an hour!"

"Postpone it!" Bart shouted through the door.

"But Young Master, it's the merchants today!"

"POSTPONE IT!"

"Right away, Young Master." The room was silent, except for the sound of Maison's retreating footsteps. The tension in the room seemed to have tripled.

"Talk. Now."

"Bart, I'm honestly trying to help you."

"By kissing me?" Bart hissed back.

"That was a mistake," Billy said simply, reaching out and prying the clenched fingers off of his wrist. "I shouldn't have given in like that."

"Given in?" Bart sounded curious, rather than angry.

Billy nodded. It was time to come clean. "Desire. It gets the best of all of us."

Bart laughed, fully, honestly, without bitterness. "You? Y-you? You want--?" The chuckles took over his ability to speak. Billy raised his right eyebrow as he watched Bart double over, grabbing his stomach. It wasn't exactly the reaction he was expecting.

"I don't know if I should be insulted or relieved," he muttered. Bart looked up at his words, took a look at Billy's face, and began laughing harder. He collapsed on the floor, curling into a fetal posistion. Billy just watched silently as the release of emotion slowly lessened, and Bart stopped laughing hysterically. He sat up, slowly trying to regain control of his breathing. Billy kneeled down, so that he and Bart were looking each other in the eyes. Bart's bangs had fallen into his eyes, and just as he had the night before, Billy brushed them out. But this time, he didn't remove his hand from Bart's head. Instead, he let it drift in the golden hait, tangling in Bart's long locks as he pulled them out of the loose braid. With a firm grip on Bart's head, Billy leaned in, and tried again.

This time the kiss worked. Bart responded, pushing his lips against Billy's and opening his mouth slightly. Billy pushed his tounge into the responsive mouth, and Bart opened wider. Billy's unoccupied hand found it's way to Bart's chest, resting lightly over the heart before beginning to slide up and down, worming its way into Bart's tunic.

"BART! YOU BETTER BE DECENT 'CAUSE I'M COMING IN!" Margie's voice shouted as the door to Bart's bedroom flew open. Billy felt his face get hot, as he broke the kiss and looked over at Margie. She had her hand over her mouth, was turning a nice shade of red, matching her red hair perfectly, clashing badly with her pink robes, and her eyes were as wide as saucers. "Oh, I'm s-sorry!" She stuttered, before backing out of the room, and slamming the door behind her.

Billy just looked at Bart. The other man's lips were twitching. "I don't think I've seen her so flustered in years," he said mildly.

Billy caught the humor, and laughed. "Will she be okay? I'd heard rumors that you and Margie were to be married?"

Bart smiled. "Well, I /am/ a king. There have to be legitimate heirs, despite my sexual preferences. But no, Margie is like a little sister, and I don't intend to change the relationship. Besides, she's needed far more in Nisan than she is here, and the Queen has to be present here in Bledavik, or at least in Aveh, as a visual comfirmation of my power."

Billy nodded, he'd realized that two years ago when he had first began to feel attracted to Bart. "And does /Margie/ know this?" He asked again, reiterating his real concern.

"She was the first one who ever knew about Sig. I think by now she's figured it out." Bart said wryly.

Billy pulled back. "You better get changed. I better go. You were right earlier, you do have work to do."

Bart glared at Billy. "You're not trying to run away again, are you?" Billy shook his head, once again angry at himself for helping to turn someone so vibrant into this. Bart needed people, and he wasn't getting that contact. Billy was rather curious if Bart was reciprocating because of actual desire, or just desperation. Sig had been gone to Solaris for nearly 3 years now. And if Bart had been alone all that time, with all of his friends finding happier destinies, well, Billy could understand a certain quiet desperation. Sheer desire, and anything that might walk in front of Bart's path would be acceptable.

Billy, for both of their sakes, hoped it was the former and not the latter. "No, of course not. In fact, I'll even go with you. I'm interested to see the precautions you're taking."

Bart laughed. "You worry too much." Now /that/ sounded much more like the old Bart, and Billy was happy to hear it. Bart stood up, and sauntered over to a wardrobe. He pulled out a pair of white pants, and a white shirt that looked like it was designed to end at his midriff. Both pieces were made of skin-tight material, and Billy knew Bart would be nearly baring all in the outfit. He nearly choked when Bart pulled off his top, exposing the same sun-bronzed muscles that had sent him into fits the night before.

Billy swallowed, watching the play of sunlight off of Bart's ribs before turning his back. "Is that what you normally wear to your court?" He asked, feeling faintly surprised that his voice came out normal.

Bart's laughter washed over him. "No, but this is a special occasion." Billy felt a featherlight touch on the back of his neck, and stiffened. He wasn't sure he wanted to turn around. Now that he knew he could have Bart, Billy would not be responsible for the consequences if Bart continued to tease him like this. He felt something warm and wet touch the back of his neck, in place of the finger. Bart's lips. Billy swallowed again, placing his hands over his growing erection. "We do have some time before I need to be there," Bart's lips hovered over his ear.

Billy gave in. "That is true," he said, turning around and grabbing Bart's braid tightly, manuevering the blond so that he was lying on the bed underneath Billy. Billy straddled Bart before leaning over and kissing him. He ran his hands along Bart's bared waist, illiciting a mumbled laugh underneath his lips. Billy ran his hands under Bart's shirt, pushing it off his chest, so that the shirt was ringed around Bart's neck. Billy pulled back, and gazed at Bart for a few seconds.

There was a slightly smile on Bart's lips. "Well, we don't have all day."

Billy snorted before reached out to fondle Bart's nipples. "No, we don't."

Billy couldn't keep the smile off his face; he felt like a cat that had been given a lifetime supply of cream. And that's how long he planned on making it last, if he could, a lifetime. Bart, who as ruler was a little more in-practice at schooling his expression, managed to come off regal and impressive. If a little rumpled. Billy had to respect that, especially since they were only /slightly/ late for the beginning of the audiences. "So you two want to be married?" Bart's voice rolled through the hall, and brought Billy out of his reverie.

He glanced at the couple in front of the throne. They were older, probably in their 40s. Perhaps a few years younger than his father. The man wore the signet of a duke, his crest was that of a knight stabbing a Wel. Billy assumed that the man was someone Bart had promoted, no one else but a member of his old crew would be audacious enough to take a crest like that. He had a long jagged scar that ran the man's exposed forearm that looked to Billy's trained eye as if it came from a gun wound.

The woman was dressed in a less wealthy manner, her body wrapped in a robe of light cotton. Her face and arms were bare of visible scars, but the way she quietly stood behind the man with her eyes downcast, allowing him to shield her from everyone else in the room, spoke volumes about mental and emotional scars. She seemed pretty, in a mousy sort of way, and did her best to hide behind a long fall of dark hair. Her hair was streaked with white. She was clutching the man's hand in her right, and a small fair child gripped in her left. The child looked to be about five or six years old, and was dressed in the same material as the woman. The young girl obviously took after her father, who was /not/ the man that was seeking to marry the woman.

"Yes, milord," the man smiled reassuringly at the woman and then patted the head of the girl, a gesture that Billy saw was full of love. He shot a glance at Maison. As Bart's majordomo, he had the power to decide when what case would be heard. Considering the smug expression on his face, he had saved this paticular jem for last, presumably expecting it to help cheer up Bart. "The law says that a noble can only marry outside of their class with a special dispensation from the king."

"Daddy," the little girl reached out and tugged on the man's shirt. "I'm hungry." She kept a tight grip on the man's shirt, and stuck the thumb of her other hand in her mouth. Billy restrained a smile.

Bart did nothing of the sort, smiled brightly at the couple. "Do you honestly want to marry each other?" First the woman and the man nodded.

"Of course, milord. We've wanted to since before the war." The woman's quiet voice was light, and melodic, and Billy had to strain himself to hear what she had just said. Bart nodded.

"Then you have my permission. The formal dispensation will be delivered to you in the morning, along with some money to help fund the wedding."

All three of the people standing in front of Bart flashed brillant smiles; although Billy suspected the little one's smile had more to do with imitation than any real emotion. "That you, milord! Thank you, you've no idea what this means to us!" The masn gushed.

"Of course I do, Oscar. You should have come to me sooner, I knew you had a girl back home." Bart replied, and Billy was once again reminded that there was a large brain underneath that adventurous exterior. He still, even after all this time, remembered his crew down to each man. He stood, walked over the couple, and shook Oscar's hand, clapping the other man on his back.

Oscar's smile widened, and Billy saw something gleam silver in the sunlight. Oscar grabbed Bart's arm, seemingly to pull him into a bear hug. "Bart!" Billy shouted. Bart twisted to the right, barely avoiding the knife. Between this occurance, and the shooting Billy idly wondered if the Bart had either the reflexes or the luck of a devil. The knife glanced off Bart's ribs, and from Billy's perspective as he made a mad dash for the Oscar, it looked like the point had been buried and stopped in one of Bart's stomach muscles. Bart's face was pale, and a red stain of blood marred the white fabric around the knife's hilt.

Billy slammed into Oscar, his body weight forcing both of them to the ground. Billy felt his teeth click around his tongue, and saw stars as his forehead hit Oscar's backbone. But he held on as the other man began to struggle, shaking the fog out of his head, before slamming Oscar back down on the ground. "DADDY! STOP IT!" The little girl had launched herself at Billy and was beating her fists against Billy's back. Maison had rushed over, and was simultaneously trying to bind up Bart's wound and calling for the gaurds.

Billy slammed Oscar into the ground a second time, feeling a sort of sick satisfaction as he heard bone meet stone, and bone lose. "Why?" He gritted out through clenched teeth, holding on as Oscar continued to struggle despite his broken arm. The little girl was still beating on Billy's back.

Oscar laughed. "Because the bastard was going to stop us!" That was enough for Billy, he took out his gun, and smacked Oscar in the back of the head with it, knocking him out. Then he turned to the little girl.

"Your daddy has done something very bad," he said as gently as possible, grabbing her small fists and stopping them. "Why don't you go stay with your mother until we have this all sorted out?"

The girl burst into tears. "Daddy said the bad man would hurt him! I want daddy!" The wail increased in volume and intensity, and Billy sighed. He folded the girl into a tight hug, both to try and comfort her and to muffle the shrieks.

"Let me take her," a quiet, female voice said. Billy looked up. Margie was standing in full regalia, holding her arms out. Billy stood, and handed the girl to her. The girl wrapped her arms around Margie sobbing incoherently. He glanced over at Bart, but he was surrounded by guards and a few doctors. Billy fleetingly wished that Dr. Uzuki was still here. But he had more important manners. There was still sting left in the scorpion.

Billy righted his gun, gripping it loosely, and patroled around the court. "Stop what?" He wondered aloud. Oscar probably had connections with the slave trade, but finding the woman should answer any questions about the occurence without Bart getting hurt worse. Billy grimaced as he flashed on the scars on Bart's back. It was too late to stop that heinous act that had happened in Shakhan's name, but Billy was going to make damned sure he stopped this. When he reached the doorway that was closet to the place the woman had been standing, Billy tensed, cocking the gun.

He crept around the corner caustiously. The corridor was empty, but he suspected that the woman might be lingering behind to make sure that the job was finished. Billy still was shocked that one of Bart's own old crewmembers would stoop to assassination. He spotted a small piece of brown cloth near a window. The woman had ripped her dress on the way out of the window.

Billy peered outside, squinting into the sunlight. There were faint footprints in the sand, slowly being eroded by the light wind. They led back around to the back of the palace, to a secret passageway that Bart had shown him once.

The passage led right to behind the throne. And with everyone distracted with Bart and Oscar, there probably wouldn't be anyone with the presence of mind to watch the entrances and exits. If anyone besides Bart and himself even knew about the passage. Billy sprinted back to the throne room.

The woman had stalked back into the throne room and was creeping close to the huddle around Bart. He darted across the room trying to keep her from seeing him. The woman's entire concentration was on Bart, so that task was easier than he expected. He got within five feet of her, and trained the gun onto her head. It was a more sure kill. "STOP!" The woman started, her concentration had been so intense that she honestly hadn't seen Billy. She stared at the barrel of the gun, and Billy could see her weighing her options. To go for it, and risk getting shot. To stop, and then be questioned. She grimaced, obviously not liking the options she was given. Slowly she raised her hands up in the air, a gesture of surrender. Billy let out the breath he was holding with a gasp, and motioned to a guard member standing near Bart trotted over, and grabbed the woman's arms.

"C'mon," he grunted, forcibly dragging the woman out of the throne room. Billy glanced back at Bart, wanting to go to his newfound lover. But he'd never forgive himself if he didn't get the answers he needed to stop future attempts before joining Bart. Billy grimaced and followed the guards.

The four of them, two guards, Billy, and the woman, went through several twists and turns before arriving at a cell. The guards literally threw the woman in head first towards the wall. She twisted to avoid smacking her head on the stone walls, and Billy stifled a wince as he heard bones crack in her right arm from the impact.

"Who are you?" Billy asked as soon as the woman's motion stopped. She didn't answer. Billy stepped into the cell, and pulled her long robe off her collarbone. Billy's grimace became even more dire; as he expected the woman had a slave brand on her breast. "What did he promise you? Your freedom? The freedom of your little girl?" The woman's breathing stilled, and Billy knew that he had hit the nail on the head. "Don't worry, no one here will hurt the girl. She's being cared for by Marguerite, the Great Mother of Nisan." The woman's breathing began again.

"He... He said that if we suceeded in killing the king, then all the slaves would be freed. He always told us that the new king was the cause of the slavery." Billy's hands clenched, and he hid them behind his back before the woman could see the visible sign of his rage. It would only confirm the propaganda that Oscar seemed to have been feeding her.

"What did Oscar plan to do when Ba - the king - was dead?" The woman shifted, so that she could look into Billy's eyes.

"The master wanted to become king so he could free us slaves." The words were simple, but it was the impact of the woman's eyes that fueled Billy's rage.

"And it never seemed strange to any of you that a slaver would want to free slaves?" One of the guards broke into the interrogation in an incredulous voice, giving substance to Billy's thoughts.

The woman's eyes widened in surprise, and she began to shake. It was obvious that anyone involved in the plots had been too blinded by the thought of freedom to really wonder about the situation. "How many people were involved in the plot?"

"I -" The woman's voice began to hitch, pain and the desperation of her situation had finally set in. She was beginning to cry. "I only know of the Master. He didn't talk of anyone else plotting." Billy nodded. It seemed that Oscar was the ringleader for this paticular plot; Shakhan's old supporters either had nothing to do with it, or had been demolished in previous attempts. Considering how well Bart treated his veterans, Oscar's greed must have been astronomical to first become a slaver, and then second try to kill Bart.

Billy nodded. She reached out and took the woman's arm, as he expected, it was broken. "I'm going to set this arm for you. It will hurt for a moment." Billy reset the arm, and using cloth torn from his own shirt, made a makeshift bandange until a more skilled healer could look at it. "I'll speak to the king and explain the situation."

The woman's tears intensified. "Can I see my daughter?" Billy glanced at the guards' furious expression behind him. The guard on the left shook his head.

Billy placed his hand on the woman's head, and handed her a tissue. "I'll see what I can do." He stood and walked out of the cell. A guard closed the door behind Billy. The sound rang throughout the dungeon with finality and Billy found himself feeling relieved that the entire affair was over. It meant he could finally go to Bart. "Keep a close guard on her until we can confirm her story independently," he muttered quietly to the guard, who seemed slightly affronted that Billy assumed he needed to be told what to do. Billy smiled at him placantingly, knowing they both had Bart's interests in mind. He turned and left the dungeon, heading back to find Bart.

Bart was still in the throne room. He moved to Bart's side, shoving aside a guard, and kneeling next to him. Bart was pale as Billy grabbed hold of his hand, squeezing it. "Makes you wish Deus and the Wave Existence were still around, don't it?" Bart gasped out as the doctor who had arrived sometime during the confusion pulled out the knife. Bart would have to heal the old-fashioned way. Billy nodded, smiling a little.

"If you /ever/ do that to me again, Bart, I'll kill you myself." Billy muttered softly, squeezing Bart's hand again.

Bart began to laugh, which was quickly cut off by a coughing fit. The doctor gave Bart a flat look. "Don't talk," he grumbled, efficiently bandaging the wound.

Bart smiled sweetly at the doctor before sticking his tongue out. Billy snorted, and grabbed Bart's tongue. He gurgled, ignoring the doctor's orders. The doctor looked up and had to stifle a smile at Bart. "You'll obviously live," he muttered crossly, leaning back. The doctor stood, and touched Billy's shoulder. Billy stood, and waited as the doctor made arrangements with the guards to carry Bart to his room. "I'll come back daily to change the bandage. He can't overextend himself, or he could be permenately injured. Keep him in bed, will you?"

Billy looked over at Bart, who was laughing with the guards who were carrying him. His blond braid was trailing on the floor. He smiled slowly, feeling something come together inside of him. "You can be sure of that."


End file.
